Piece of Nicias: A Sci-Fi Novel

by Francis J Coyle

  He wriggled backwards until he exited the crawl space and handed the wrench to James Rivan.

  “Tighten the valve I showed you and we’ll close it up.” Rawlins said. “We can run a full test of the fire suppression system once the bulkhead is buttoned up.”

  Rawlins stood up and jerked his head in the direction of the bedroom.

  “Step into my office Captain.” Rawlins said.

  “Why is it always the fire suppression system that’s got problems.” Stone asked.

  “It’s always the last system built in any ship. It’s added as an after thought.”

  Rawlins crossed to his bunk and withdrew a large bottle from his kit bag. He poured half a glass of an amber liquid then it slid across the table to Stone before pouring his own glass. They clinked the glasses together.

  “To the Lords of Chaos.”

  “The Lords of Chaos.”

  “Simmons, our employer, has said his room is too stuffy.” Stone said. “I told him you could do something about it.”

  “I can install a window.” Rawlins said. “The next time it gets stuffy, he can open it.”

  “Do you have any suggestions which don’t involve our passengers being sucked into space?” Stone asked.

  “None from an engineering point of view, not without digging up half the ship to insert a new air conditioning system.” Rawlins answered. He flicked open his Pulsaro computer with practised ease and studied it for a moment. “Have a word with hydroponics. According to the list of houseplants he has onboard, the cook has a number specified for cleaning the air.”

  “A non-engineering solution from you?” Stone said. “I am shocked and amazed.”

  “Sarcasm from you?” Rawlins said. “Strangely, I’m not surprised.”

  They both laughed. Rawlins recharged both glasses without waiting for a prompt from Stone. Stone studied the muddy brown liquid for a moment, he swirled the complex rich spirit before downing it. The harsh liquid burned in his throat. He suppressed a cough.

  “Not bad.”

  “I will get the two engineers to set up a still tomorrow.” Rawlins said. “We should have more of the rotgut in a few days.”

  “How are the two engineers working out?”

  “James Rivan, the younger one, has an aptitude for it.” Rawlins said. “Given enough time I could shape him into a useful engineer. But Tyler Hart ...”

  Rawlins shook his head.

  “Not working out?” Stone asked.

  “I asked him for a number three wrench earlier.” Rawlins said. “He could not understand why wrenches have a different numbering system on them and started arguing how stupid it was.”

  “At least the main engine is shut down until we arrive at the planet Jewel.” Stone said. “Are you letting them near the Jump engines?”

  “Not a chance.” Rawlins said. “I’ll try and teach them the basics of the main engines while they are turned off, otherwise I will keep them on monitoring duties.”

  “No wild parties in engineering on this trip?” Stone asked.

  There was a wistful note in his voice. Once the jump engines were engaged and the main engines turned off there was nothing to do during the week until the ship arrived at its destination. It was customary for the engineers to lock the hatches to the engineering compartment and have a party. Arriving in a new solar system, sober but with a hangover was the norm for many engineers.

  “If the two engineers shape up, we can have a party on the return trip.” Rawlins said. “I will have time to distil the whiskey a second time.”

  “Rotgut with actual flavour?” Stone said. “Now you are spoiling us.”

  *

  Stone returned to his stateroom with half a bottle of Rawlin’s finest. Lieutenant Hammond was sitting on the upper bunk bed, a small book in his hand.

  “What are you reading?” Stone asked.

  Hammond turned the book slightly and flashed the cover. Stone saw a picture of a red dragon perched malevolently, glaring at a group of frightened humans. Hammond continued reading.

  Stone opened a cupboard and retrieved two glasses. He splashed some whiskey in each and offered Hammond a glass.

  Hammond hesitated a moment.

  “I’ve poured it now so you have to drink it.” Stone said.

  They clinked glasses together in salute.

  Stone sat at his desk and opened his console. The Pulsaro computer on his wrist held detailed specifications relating to the operation of the spaceship however, to actually look at the live stream or interact with the ship’s computer, he would need to physically interface directly with the computer. It was old school, it was a pain in the neck, but it was the only way to stop potential hackers or pirates from taking control.

  A heating duct ran through the staterooms on the floor level. Stone put his feet on the duct to warm them with the soothing heat as he flicked through the reports. He had to electronically countersign the reports each evening to confirm that he had read them. The computers had produced all the reports except the hydroponics report, so it was easy to scan each report to confirm only the word nominal was stated.

  Stone sighed as he read the hydroponics report. If the cook could spell, the report would be merely tedious. He signed it at the bottom.

  “Sometimes the day never ends.”

  Stone jumped a little, he had forgotten the lieutenant was present.

  “It has for me.” Stone said. He sealed the console and climbed onto the lower bunk, the tumbler of whiskey in his hands, and closed his eyes.

  “I got a suggestion from my Sergeant.” Hammond said. “He wants to build a second level to the small hold to have a separate bedroom level from the training level. He says we have enough lumber to do it. With your permission that is.”

  “Permission given.” Stone said as he yawned. “Ask him not to punch a hole in the outer hull.”

  “Thanks, I’ll pass it on.” Hammond said.

  Stone swung his feet to the deck and reached for the bottle.

  “Just a little.” Hammond said as Stone crooked an eyebrow in his direction. “I try not to over indulge in distilled methanol more than once a lifetime.”

  Stone splashed a little in both glasses.

  “You’re not so bad for a glorified bus driver.” Hammond said.

  “You’re not so bad for a glorified meter maid.” Stone said.

  They clinked glasses together again. Perhaps this passage would not be so bad after all.

  Chapter Eight

  “They’ve eaten it all.”

  The kitchen was full of Peace Officers eating breakfast when James Rivan and Tyler Hart entered. Rivan managed to snag some food from the cook and sat at the end of one of the long wooden trestle tables. Hart poked through the burnt offerings available in the kitchen. He negotiated his way across the crowded kitchen and sat opposite Rivan, bumping the table slightly as he sat.

  There was a large carafe of water in the middle of the trestle table. It wobbled for a long moment then slowly toppled over on its side. The water flooded the table, rushing in a wave towards one of the Peace Officers. He frantically threw himself backwards trying to avoid the spillage, but it splashed onto his lap.

  In the sudden silence, the plastic carafe dropped to the floor with a gentle thud. Stan rose from his chair his face red. No one laughed at the comical stain on his lap as he turned, fist clenched, towards Hart.

  “I didn’t do it.” Hart said. “It was an accident.”

  Rivan rose from his seat opposite Hart.

  “Look, he didn’t mean anything by it.” Rivan said. He walked around the table and stood behind Hart, his hands raised in an open gesture. “It was just an accident.”

  “We’ve been watching Tyler Hart for a long time.” Stan said. “After every riot in the city, he puts up his hand and says it wasn’t his fault.”

  Lea stood up and placed her hand on Stan’s shoulder.

  “Let it go,” she said.

  Stan shrugged her arm off his shoulde
r.

  “I want it from him.” Stan said. “I want him to apologise properly for his accident. I want him to apologise for us having to clean up after him all these years.”

  Hart stood up, placed his hands on his hips and glared up at the Peace Officer towering above him.

  “Apologise?” Hart said. “I would never apologise to a trumped up tool of the establishment. The number of occasions our work to save society has been undercut by the agent provocateurs, agents of the government who deliberately provoke and undermine the very democracy and principles we hold so dear.”

  “You goad the crowd into rioting.”

  “I opened their eyes.” Hart said. “You portray us as the terrorists. We’re not the ones conducting the illegal searches. We’re not the ones deliberately targeting innocent people, obstructing their right to protest and hold demonstrations.”

  “Innocent?” Stan said. “Thirty of my friends, people I worked with, died over the last twelve months, seventeen of them in the last two months. You call yourself innocent? You rile up the crowd, then walk away washing your dainty white hands. ‘I’m so innocent’ you cry. You’re an egotistical monster, using your position of privilege because of your love of power. The people? They can kiss your lily-white behind and you just love that.”

  “You’re an insufferable tool, disguised behind your blackened masks. Your anonymous unmarked uniform makes you unaccountable to the people.”

  “You’re a buffoon, a mouthpiece pretending to represent something. You say the words but even you don’t believe them. You know what you are, you’re a shadow. You stand there in the bright spotlights but the second they go dim you disappear. You’re insubstantial. You’re a nothing.”

  Hart swung his fist and punched Stan in the face. Stan was so surprised that the small man was trying to hit him that he didn’t try to block the punch but staggered back off-balance. Hart threw a second punch which missed, Stan was already out of range.

  With a roar of rage, Stan stepped forward. He raised his left elbow, tucked to protect his face and caught the next punch from Hart. With his right arm he jabbed Hart sharply in the face. Hart stepped back with a gasp. A second punch. A third punch. Hart collapsed to the floor. Stan was breathing heavily as he stood over the defeated man.

  Rivan stood looking at the two fighters with his mouth open. He threw himself bodily at Stan, trying to push him away from his fallen colleague. Stan however stepped to the side, out of the way of the incoming rush. He caught Rivan by the throat and kicked his legs from under him. Rivan landed on the ground with an ‘oomph’.

  “Stop.” The sergeant shouted. He stomped over to Stan and pushed him back from the two men. “Pick them up.” This was to Lea who was watching the scuffle.

  Lea bent her knees and grabbed Rivan by the scruff of his neck and the seat of his pants and started to lift Rivan from the ground.

  “What is going on here?”

  Lieutenant Hammond, alerted by the shouting and the sounds of fighting, had entered the kitchen with Captain Stone beside him.

  “Drop him.” The lieutenant said to Lea.

  Lea shrugged and dropped Rivan. He landed on top of Hart who was starting to get up. Both collapsed to the ground in a jumbled heap.

  “You are supposed to be Peace Officers, not children in a school yard.” Hammond said. “Anyone who acts again in this manner, I will deal with him or her personally. Do you understand me?”

  He said this in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. More than one Peace Officer flinched at his quiet tone.

  “Sir, perhaps I can explain.” The sergeant said.

  “No Sergeant, you have done enough.” Hammond said. “We will discuss this again at a later stage when I have calmed down.”

  “I will not have this on my ship.” Stone said. He grabbed Hammond by the arm and, although he continued in a quiet tone, his rigid pose did not have any give. “Keep your men on a tight leash.”

  Hammond pulled his arm free roughly.

  “Keep your men away from mine.”

  The two men glared at each other in the doorway for a long moment.

  “I’m fine by the way.”

  Rivan’s voice broke the silence. The captain nodded at him and returned to the bridge.

  “Have you finished eating?” Hammond demanded.

  “Not yet.” Rivan said. He helped Hart to his feet and to a chair.

  “Finish it and get out.” Hammond turned and stalked from the kitchen.

  “Breakfast for Mr Simmons?”

  Mike Leyland entered the kitchen, brushing past the lieutenant. He stopped, looking around at the silent Peace Officers. Hart had a small cut on his lip and Rivan was nursing a sore shoulder.

  “Have I missed something?” Leyland asked.

  “No sir.” The sergeant said. “We have just finished breakfast. I think I’ll run the Peace Officers through a quick training session to keep them on their toes.”

  “That’s good to hear Sergeant.” Leyland said with a beaming smile.

  He nodded to the cook who presented him with a huge tray of freshly sliced fruit, warm honey-coated bread, and a pot of steaming coffee. Leyland then left the kitchen, the smell of the freshly made food the only sign he had been there.

  The Peace Officers grumbled as the sergeant roused them. They still had some building work to do. In a few moments Rivan and Hart were left alone.

  “That could have gone better.” Rivan said.

  “Really?” Hart said. “Let’s join Captain Stone you said. It will be an easy cruise you said. We can learn on the job you said.”

  “I guess I got it wrong.” Rivan said. “You do have a face people want to punch. Next time, keep your mouth shut.”

  “You think there will be a next time?”

  Rivan wisely kept his mouth shut.

  Chapter Nine

  The summons to see his employer, Paul Simmons, did not come as a surprise to Lieutenant Hammond. After the fight earlier, he had taken the sergeant aside to discuss the behaviour of the Peace Officers. The Peace Officers, Hammond had been given, were certainly not the best disciplined he had worked with. In fact he was beginning to suspect that, like him, the two squads were here because the senior Peace Officers wanted them out of the way.

  Hammond straightened his cap and knocked on the door. An answering voice bade him to enter.

  The large stateroom had a single bed in one corner of the room with a large dining table in the centre. There were four chairs around the table. Hammond was invited to sit so he removed his cap and placed it on his lap.

  Paul Simmons was drinking what Hammond assumed to be whiskey from a tumbler. His left hand drummed gently on the dining table, the manicured fingers tapping in time to an unheard tune. He introduced Hammond to the lady at his left hand, a Miss Rosie Ire. Hammond stood to shake her hand before returning to his seat. He nodded across to Leyland.

  “I had hoped to avoid this but Leyland here brought the altercation from breakfast to my attention.” Simmons said. “I expect better of you. I expect you to maintain the discipline of the Peace Officers, not allow them to engage in brawls with the ship’s crew. Do you understand?”

  “Yes sir.” Hammond said. He stared woodenly at the bulkhead wall behind Simmons, his body poised.

  “I am sure you do.” Simmons said. “No more of this. This incident is forgotten for now. You will find that I am generous with my praise as well as my scolding.”

  “Yes sir, thank you sir.” Hammond said.

  “You are here to be more than just a guard standing at the door.” Simmons said. His voice softened to a more conciliatory tone. “When we arrive at Jewel I will need your help to strike the right note with the citizens we meet. You will blend in and provide support for myself, Leyland here, or Miss Ire as required. We will be conducting some delicate negotiations with some of the locals, nothing illegal, everything above board, but I need to know that you will be there if I need you.”

  Simmons paused for a moment and
looked earnestly at Hammond.

  “Are you willing to help me?”

  “Of course sir.” Hammond said.

  “We don’t need his help.” Leyland said. “Some of the people I will be negotiating with would not want an unfamiliar face present and, forgive me Lieutenant but, by your bearing, you obviously have a military background.”

  “Yes sir, I was in the 8th Marine Division.” Hammond said.